


Dear Diary. . .

by Laurel_Wolford



Category: Captain America (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Tower, BAMF Stiles, Beacon Hills attacked, Brotp, Character Death, Derek rips a throat out - with his teeth, Everybody Dies, Gen, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Not a Happy Story, POV Stiles, Protective Avengers, Steve Rogers Feels, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles lives, Stiles meets the Avengers, Stiles thinks he's a Jotunn, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurel_Wolford/pseuds/Laurel_Wolford
Summary: Trouble comes to Beacon Hills, only this time it proves to be more than the pack can handle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this idea came from. My muse demanded it be written in this form, which is unlike my preferred style of writing. A huge thank you to my beta reader C E Sommers for catching all my typos and goofs.
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy this. Comments feed my muse, which means I write more.

Dear Diary,

I’m not certain where to begin.  The beginning would seem like the logical place, but my story doesn’t really start at the beginning.  I’m not sure where it actually starts, to be honest.  So much has happened in so little time that it almost seemed to all happen at once.  Which, obviously, it did not; but the human mind can only process so much, so fast.  So, where to start?  I think it might be best to start at the end and work backwards toward the beginning.  So, let me tell you  _ what _ happened, and then I’ll explain  _ why _ it happened.

They’re all dead - the entire pack.  Somehow, I am the only survivor of the shit show that happened in Beacon Hills - in Hale Territory.  I am the only one left to tell the tale; the only one to pass on the information so that others can make sure that something like this never happens again.

First came the sickness.  Humans developed pustules and open wounds for no apparent reason, with fevers so high that many actually died from boiling from the inside out long before the infection and sepsis set in.  The sickness alone wiped out more than half the human population of the city (the entire county, actually).

Second, came the uncontrollable rage.  Humans began killing each other over the smallest thing.  We, the pack, searched everywhere for what could be the cause of these things; because there was no doubt in our minds that they were related to each other.  That someone or something was trying to destroy Beacon Hills.  But we found nothing.  Not a hint, not a scent, just nothing.

After the rage killings, the supernatural beings started to lose control.  It didn’t matter what kind of being they were, they couldn’t control their shift or powers.  It was interesting to find out that many people I had known my whole life were actually supernatural.  Like, I had no idea that Danny’s mom was Water Sprite, or that Mr. Harris was actually an Ogre (although that  _ did _ make a lot of sense).  But I digress.

Once all the supernatural beings had been outed by whatever was going on, some allied themselves with the pack, while others (like Harris) not only went it alone, but also actually fought against us at every turn. 

In less than six weeks, the entire human population of Beacon Hills (and most of the county) were dead.  Including Melissa McCall and my father, Sheriff Noah Stilinski.  Mrs.McCall died from the sickness and my dad died when some human shot him in the head for accidentally bumping into the guy near the coffee shop.  The fact that I didn’t get sick or become homicidally angry was actually what let us know that I wasn’t human.  But the fact that nothing seemed to change when the supernaturals were affected had us all (myself most of all) baffled.  How could I be neither human nor supernatural?  Didn’t I have to be one or the other?

It didn’t take long before all the supernatural beings turned on each other.  At first it was differing species standing together against other species.  But before long, there were so few left that it became everyone for themselves, or should I say everyone against the pack?  Within two weeks of the supernatural beings turning on each other, the remaining beings all turned against the pack.  Luckily for us, while they were against us, they’re not with each other.  Otherwise, we’d never had lasted as long as we did. 

Unfortunately, not all of us survived the supernaturals coming for us.  We lost Kira first, since she didn’t have the same enhanced healing that the wolves did. Next was Malia.  Hearing Lydia scream for them was chilling.  Hearing her scream for Liam, then Brett, was almost too much.  Finally, what was left of us managed to kill off all the rest of the supers.

However, once the only people left in Beacon Hills were Lydia, Scott, Derek, and me.  It took less than forty-eight hours  before Scott snapped and killed Lydia.  She didn’t even have a chance to scream for her own death; she was dead before her body hit the ground.  Derek then immediately retaliated and ripped Scott’s throat out - for once, with his teeth.  Since I wasn’t threatening him, Derek didn’t try to kill me; thank every god I could think of.  

It took another three days to finally find what had caused all this destruction.  Although, that’s a bit of a misnomer, since it was less us finding her and more her finding us.  The showdown happened in the middle of Main Street, which was still private seeing as Derek and I were the only two residents left alive in the city.  It turned out that she was some kind of über-witch that wasn’t even human.  Her skin was blue, she had completely red eyes, and she was tall (somewhere in the neighborhood of seven feet tall).  

When Derek tried to attack her, the first time she made a blizzard come out of nowhere.  I remember that as a kid I used to hate the cold, but the older I’ve gotten the more I have come to enjoy it.  But this magical storm was a bit much, even for me.  Derek attempted to walk toward her, but between not being able to see her through the snow and the fierce winds buffeting him back, he didn’t make it closer than a few steps.  

The blizzard lasted for several minutes with us unable to get any closer to her.  Before the snow even had a chance to settle, a spear of ice shot forward out of her hand and pierced Derek straight through the heart.  When Derek fell she just stared at me, then she asked me how I was still alive.  I answered honestly that I didn’t know, that I had always thought that I was human, but not being affected like the rest of the humans in the town let me know that I wasn’t. 

She sauntered toward me, circling me, letting her long blue finger drag across my shoulders, causing a shiver to run through my body.  It was when she reached down and grabbed my hand that everything changed.  That  _ I _ changed.  Where her hand touched me, my skin changed to the same shade of blue as hers.  The color changed all the way up that arm and down the other, then I felt my face change.  Everything seemed colder, but at the same time I felt stronger.  

The woman stumbled back and whispered that it shouldn’t be possible, that I shouldn’t exist, that I couldn’t be on Midgard.  She raised her arm to do what, I have no idea, probably that ice spear that she used to kill Derek.  On instinct I raised my hand and a long blade of ice emerged from it and stabbed her through the chest before she had a chance to do anything to stop me.

She dropped to the ground clutching her chest as blood poured from the wound.  I never got a chance to ask her anything about who she was or why she decided to destroy all of Beacon Hills, I never got a chance to ask her why my skin turned blue or why ice shot out of my hand, I never got a chance to ask her anything.  She died too quickly from blood loss.

I hurried back to my house to shower, change, pack, then I left Beacon Hills far behind me as fast as I could.  I made it to San Francisco and went to the library.  I looked up “Midgard” and found out out that it’s another name for Earth, but it used in Norse mythology.  I read about Asgard and about a realm called  Jötunheim that housed Frost Giants.  The description the books gave of Frost Giants, or more accurately the Jötnar, matched the witch that killed us all.  And if she was from Jötunheim, and I looked like her and had the same powers as her, maybe I was somehow connected to Jötunheim too.

There was one name in the books that I recognized, so I thought I’d start there with looking for my answers.  I’m leaving California in the morning and driving to New York so that I can try to speak with the Avenger Thor, since he’s from Asgard.  Maybe he can tell me who and what I really am.

‘Til next time,

Stiles

 


	2. Stiles Meets the Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on updating this fic at all, but my muse made me. I'll be completely honest, that unless I somehow get an overwhelming response requesting that I continue this, or my muse suddenly decides I need to, I cannot promise that this will ever be updated. I just wanted to put that out there so that everyone knew that from the get go. What I'm truly hoping for is lots of comments asking me for more. Just saying. ;-)

Stiles tilted his head back and stared up at the gigantic skyscraper in front of him.  From his position he couldn’t see the top, and could only see the underside of the huge ‘A’ that adorned the side.  He lower his head so that he could see the glass doors a few steps away from him, took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and walked into Avengers’ Tower.

He warily approached the front desk.  The receptionist glanced up at him and, after a millisecond perusal, adopted a look of disappointment on her otherwise beautiful face. 

“May I help you?”  Her voice was civil, but it was more than obvious that she was only being polite because she had to.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles answered.  “I need to speak with Thor if he’s here, please.  It’s quite urgent.”

If he thought the receptionist didn’t like him before, it was nothing compared to how she looked at him now.  Disappointment was replaced with disdain.

“That won’t be possible,” she smirked.  “No one sees the Avengers.”

Stiles understood that it was probably standard procedure to turn away everyone asking to see them, unless the person was expected as a guest of one of the Avengers.  But he was not to be deterred; it was imperative that he speak with Thor.

“Ma’am, I get that it’s your job to tell everyone that they can’t see any of the Avengers, and I can respect that.  But Thor is literally the only person on this planet that could possibly help me and answer my questions. It could very well be a matter of life or death.”  He hoped that he’d impressed upon her the great need he had, but the cold, hardened glare told him that he may have missed his mark.

“Is that a threat?”  She demanded. He saw the flicker of her finger, the sudden appearance of several armed security guards let him know that it was some sort of alarm or panic button.

“No, no ma’am,” Stiles stammered.  “I didn’t mean it to sound like a threat.  I swear. I only meant . . . well, that it was  _ my _ life on the line.  There’s something . . . wrong . . . with me, and I think Thor is the only person that might know what it is.”

The guards took a step away from the young man.  If whatever was wrong was contagious, they certainly didn’t want to catch it.  Stiles noticed the movement and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not contagious.  I promise.” They all, including the receptionist, seemed to relax at that.

The dark haired woman behind the desk studied him for a moment.  This time not simple looking at his age and clothing, but truly studied him.  Then she let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” she began.  “But I will pass on a message. If Thor, or any other Avenger, wishes to speak with you it’s up to them.  If they decide they don’t want to, or they ignore the message, I expect you to respect that and leave quietly.”  

Stiles frantically nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am. Of course. Thank you.”

“What message would you like me to send up?  I suggest that you keep it to one or two sentences.”  She looked up at him expectantly.

Stiles quickly thought about what would get Thor’s attention and get him to let Stiles talk with him.  “Please tell him . . . ‘I think I know of a  Jötunn on Midgard.’”  She raised an eyebrow asking if that was the whole message.  “That’s it.”

“Very well,” she replied.  She motioned to some stone benches near the front door.  “You’re welcome to wait on one of the benches until I hear back.”

“Thank you so much.”  Stiles offered her a tiny, sheepish smile then made his way to the stone benches.

*~*~*

Stiles had resigned himself to having to wait for hours to hear back that Thor refused to see him.  Instead, he sat for less than half an hour before a security guard asked Stiles to follow him to get his information entered into the system so that he could be issued a visitor’s badge.  Slightly in shock, Stiles isn’t entirely certain what all information they requested from him, but a few minutes later he was in the private elevator toward the back of the building, behind the bank of public elevators, headed up to an undisclosed floor.

When the elevator doors opened Stiles was met by none other than the Black Widow.  Stiles had faced all sorts of Supernatural creatures in his life, but somehow, this completely human woman scared him almost more than anything he’d faced.  But then again, because of everything he’d faced, he had a healthy respect for his desire to continue breathing.

“Ma’am,” Stiles greeted her.  As she stared at him, he had the strangest feeling that she could see his blue skin.  

Once satisfied with whatever she’d found in her visual dissection of him she turned with a firm, “Follow me.”  

She led him to a large conference room.  However, he was not expecting have  _ all _ of the Avengers seated around the table.  The Black Widow motioned to the lone chair at the middle of the long side of the conference table, the Avengers all seated along the opposite side of the long table from him.  It was no surprise to Stiles when Thor spoke first, as he was the one that Stiles had asked to talk with.

“Your message stated that you had knowledge of a  Jötunn here on Midgard,” the prince got right to the point.  His voice was kind, but it held a hard edge underneath that Stiles recognized from when his werewolf friends were trying to reign in their wolves.

“I. . . I think  _ I _ might be a  Jötunn ,” Stiles blurted out, figuring that he’d just rip the bandage off.  Seeing a lack of reaction from the other side of the table he continued.  "I haven’t been able to shift again since she touched me, but when she did I turned completely blue.”  That got Thor’s attention. 

“When who touched you?” The large god asked, his voice slightly more gentle than it originally had been, now that he thought the young man in front of him may be telling the truth.

Stiles took a deep breath then relayed the story of the last few weeks in Beacon Hills.  Tony was on his tablet the entire time; Stiles could only assume that he was trying to find any evidence of what Stiles was telling them.  Midway through his explanation Stark let out a low whistle at whatever he saw on the tablet. When Stiles stopped speaking, Tony motioned for him to continue.

It took more than half an hour, because Stiles had to stop several times to get control of his emotions again.  The destruction of his home had happened less than a week ago, so every emotional wound was still painfully fresh.

It was only once Stiles finished completely that any of the Avengers spoke.

“Stark, what have you got?”  The Captain asked since Tony was the only one that indicated, by his earlier whistle, that he had any other information to add to the discussion.

The billionaire flicked his finger over his tablet and pictures started appearing on the wall to Stiles’ left.  Stiles had to close his eyes to the onslaught of images of the death and destruction of his home town. Unnoticing, Tony continued.  “Everything I could find supports the kid’s story. At least until ten days ago, when all reporting stopped. I would guess that was when the last human died.”  He turned to see Stiles’ ashen face turned away from the screen and quickly shut off the pictures.

“May I ask what became of the body of the  Jötunn you faced?”  Thor was gentle with his question, but his tone indicated that he expected an answer.

“Nothing,” Stiles responded.  “I left her where she was, just like I had left everyone else.”  He couldn’t help it. The thought of leaving his pack without giving them each a proper burial ate away at his mind; so, now that he was safe and he’d shared the story so that he no longer carried the weight of it alone, he broke down in sobs.  Other than a few small outbursts of tears while telling the story, he’d kept all his emotions inside. But he could no longer hold it in.

Stiles didn’t notice Natasha slip out of the room to call Fury to get a team to Beacon Hills, or Thor slip out behind her to call up to Heimdall.  Stiles barely registered that someone sat next to him and took him into their arms. He lost all track of time as he let out all of the pent up emotions inside him; grief, anger, rage, sorrow.  They all mixed together to come out in horrible, ugly sobs. The arms that encased him held him tighter to a firm, masculine chest the longer the emotions came out. As if whoever it was understood that this was the first time that Stiles had left himself feel the emotions; as if they had been there so they understood and offered no judgement, only silent support.  

Finally, Stiles regained enough of his composure to sit up under his own power again.  If he’d been any less drained he knew he probably would’ve flailed at seeing that it had been Captain American holding him.  

Stiles tried to say, “Thank you,” to the man, but his voice was too rough for any sound to come out.  But the man had seen the boy’s mouth move and responded anyway.

“You’re welcome.”  Surprisingly, Steve didn’t move back to the chair where he’d been earlier, but instead stayed seated next to Stiles.  Still offering the young man his silent support.

Stiles quickly surveyed the room to find that the room was empty.  He motioned to the chair were Thor had been seated and turned to look speculatively at the man sitting next to him.

“He went to Asgard to try to find someone to come find out why you could only access your  Jötunn side when the woman touched you,” Steve explained.  “The rest left to give you some privacy.”

“It seemed like you understood what I was going through,” Stiles rasped out.

“In a sense.  The best way I can describe it is, ‘that was the sound my heart made when I woke up in this century and realized that I was alone’.  That everyone and everything I knew was gone. Loki called me a man out of time. He was right. I would venture a guess that you feel like a man out of home.”  Steve looked sheepish at his wording, but continued on. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but as far as I’m concerned you’re welcome here and I’d like to be your friend.  I think we could both use it.”

Stiles whispered, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“And you won’t.”  Stiles jerked at the voice that came from Tony as he entered the room, the rest of the Avengers behind him.  “We’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

“I know a thing or two about having a brightly colored, deadly, something other than human, inside of you,” the normal quiet Bruce relayed.  “Tony built me a room where I can put myself if I feel myself getting too angry, or my control slipping. And it’s strong enough to hold the Hulk.  I have no doubt that he can do the same for you if you end up needing it. It may sound strange, but it’s a comfort knowing that I can lock myself away so that I don’t hurt anyone.”

Stiles nodded.  He could understand that.  He’d helped enough bitten werewolves transition that he understood the compulsion to lock yourself away so that your wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.  

“Now, kid,” Tony spoke gaining everyone’s attention.  “When was the last time you ate? Or slept, or took a shower?”  Stiles shrugged. He honestly couldn’t remember the answer to those questions.  “We may not have experienced the same shit as you, but I think it’s safe to say that we’re basically all experts in PTSD these days.  And you are checking off every tick box about lack of self-care. So, let’s go get you something light to eat, then I’ll show you to your room where you can shower and then take a nap.  We have no idea how long Point Break is going to be gone, so you should use that time to catch up on sleep. If he come back while you’re sleeping we’ll come wake you. Sound good?”

Stiles nodded, even though he was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, at least not without terrible nightmares, the food and shower sounded like a good idea.  And he didn’t want to spurn their hospitality. So, Stiles stood up and followed Tony Stark out of the large conference room.

 


End file.
